


bir(d)th charts

by velavelavela



Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Astrology, Birthday, Fantober 2020, Flashbacks, Light Angst, anyway., we didnt get enough witchy shelby after book 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velavelavela/pseuds/velavelavela
Summary: “What do you reckon Raven’s chart is?”fantober2020 day 16: birthday
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	bir(d)th charts

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i kinda placed this in an ambiguous place in the timeline, so it probably doesn't exactly line up with anywhere in particular but it's fun.

“What do you reckon Raven’s chart is?”

Shelby, Wing, Laura, and Otto were in the girls’ dorm in various positions of balanced relaxation and attentiveness. Shelby was sitting criss-cross-applesauce with a thick book on the floor in front of her, open to a page spread of tiny symbols and degrees listed alongside dates in odd looking charts that even Otto couldn’t read. Laura lay on her tummy with her chin cupped in her hands, elbows digging into the floor. Wing sat at the foot of Shelby’s bed, one leg drawn up to his chest, the other outstretched, head resting against the wall. Otto lay flat on his back and examined the ceiling.

They had exhausted birth charts. They had done all of theirs, plus Franz’s and Nigel’s, Tom’s and Penny’s, the current Prime Minister’s, Kate Bush’s, the octopus’s who predicted world cup wins, and the game  _ Mario Kart _ ’s. This book had charts listed for any and every day up until about a decade ago, and somehow Shelby had found it in some cubby in the library.

“We’d have to know her birthdate for that, genius,” Shelby replied to Laura’s question, “and I don’t think that’s any sort of information we can--”

“Give me like, five minutes,” Laura interrupted. She pushed up into a crouch.

“What are you going to do?” Wing raised his eyebrows.

“What do you-- I’m not going to  _ ask her _ , I’m going to just have a look into the records.”

“Laura, I highly doubt that is going to be as easy as you are thinking--”

“You won’t find it,” Otto interrupted, voice flat. He didn’t have to be looking towards the others to know that an unspoken question hung in the air, “she doesn’t know it herself.” 

He felt a bit ashamed and didn’t know why he said it-- this was something that Raven had shared with him when they were alone, one late summer evening when they had been talking as Raven counted ammo.

“By the way,” she had said, hand slipping in her trench coat pocket, “happy birthday, Malpense.”

He had forgotten all about birthdays. They seemed so trivial now. This time with Raven flickered by like lightning bugs and settled in his stomach. Meals seemed to be a framework for the day, meals and Raven heading to each safe house or airbnb or hotel’s gym to work out at the crack of dawn. Otto got up and drank coffee, even though no matter what he did to it, it tasted bitter and caught in the back of his throat. 

That evening, they had been across a dining room table from one another, Raven taking inventory, Otto thumbing through the news on his blackbox. And she had broken the silence and placed a thin, impeccably wrapped box in the middle of the table.

“Raven…” He had eyed it for a moment before sliding it towards him and picking it up. It felt heavier than it looked, but he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Open it,” she had said, her pale eyes downcast at the ammo she was sorting.

So, he had ripped the paper, wincing slightly at destroying something so perfectly stitched together, and out came a white box. The weight had seemed to increase, but he knew that that wasn’t possible, so he opened the box and inside, lying on a bed of foam, was a shiny but slightly worn switchblade.

“Knives are strategically important. You don’t need to reload, and you can conceal them easily.”

Otto remembered himself nodding, remembered himself flicking it open and slicing a leaf off the centerpiece of the table to his left. He remembered Raven smiling softly before continuing,

“I got this as a gift when I was your age.”

“A birthday present?” Otto had asked, tilting it so that the glint from the overhead light reflected onto the wall behind Raven.

“No,” there had been something in her voice that he couldn’t place, something almost melancholy, “I don’t know my birthday.”

“Oh,” Shelby said.

Otto groaned and sat up. Laura had set her blackbox to the side and was retying a shoelace. Otto could tell she felt bad.

“Hey, we haven’t done Gemma Collins.”

“Oh dear,” Wing said, chuckling.

Laura snorted, and Shelby tapped the book, “Get Googling, Brand.”


End file.
